


You Make it Feel Like Christmas

by Proudmoore



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 23:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proudmoore/pseuds/Proudmoore
Summary: Scotty’s the kind of guy who can’t wait to see you open your present, and it might just be the best one you’ve ever gotten.





	You Make it Feel Like Christmas

“No!”  You shriek, flouncing awkwardly through the knee-deep snow, feeling clumps of it fall into the tops of your boots and start to melt against your skin.  “Stop! Mercy!”

Another snowball hits you square between the shoulders and you laugh, stooping to pick up a handful of the fluffy stuff.  Squeezing it into a firm ball of your own, you turn around and huck the projectile at your target, grinning as it nails him right in the middle of the sternum. Turning to run off again before he can give chase, your foot catches a tree root beneath the snow and you yelp as you pitch toward the ground, landing in a snowbank and sending a spray of frosty flakes into the air around you.

“Are ye alrigh’, lassie?”  Scotty asks as he runs up next to you and drops to his knees at your side.

You giggle and reach up to wipe some snow off of your face as you roll over onto your back.  You stare up at him as snowflakes drift lazily down from the clouds overhead in the warm evening light from the nearby street lamps, giving you the feeling of being in a snow globe.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, feeling your face heat a little from the exertion.

“Jim would kill me if I broke his favorite ambassador,” Scotty says with a grimace.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, holding out a hand.

“I’m not made of glass,” you tease. “Now help me up; the snow’s soaking through my clothes!”

Scotty reaches out to take your hand, scrambling to his feet before helping you up.  As you stand, he lets go of your hand and briskly brushes away the bits of snow clinging to your clothes, tickling you a little in the process.

“Stop it!”  You squeak.  “It’s fine!”

“It’s too late,” Scotty says grimly. “Yer soaked.  We should get ye inside before ye catch cold.  Dr. McCoy would have my head if I brought you back to the ship like tha’.  I can just hear ‘im now.   _If tha’ virus gets intae the central air circulation we’ll have an epidemic on our hands.  What were ye thinkin’, Mr. Scott?_ ”

You can’t hold back peals of laughter at Scotty’s awful impression of Dr. McCoy.  Reaching out, you take his hand and give it a tug, leading him toward the cottage, watching the smoke billow from the old, cobbled chimney.  It takes the two of you less than a minute to reach the front door and Scotty ushers you inside, locking up behind himself and stepping closer to you.

“Let’s get ye out of these wet clothes,” he suggests, reaching for your toque.

You allow him to pull it off as you untie your scarf, draping it over a nearby hook on the wall.  Scotty unbuttons your coat for you and helps you slip it off as you kick off your boots.  Before long, you’re standing there in your soggy base layer, shivering now that the cold is catching up with you.

“Go on and change intae something dry,” Scotty instructs you.  “I’ll stoke the fire and make ye something tae help warm ye up.”

“You’re the best!” You trill with a smile, stepping forward and pausing briefly to give him a peck on the cheek. “I won’t be long.”

You miss the faint blush that colors his cheeks as you walk away, and you don’t notice his gaze following you as you round the corner and head for your shared bedroom.  All you can do is focus on not shivering too badly as you make your way to the bathroom, already pulling your damp sweater over your head.

It doesn’t take you very long to strip and throw your wet clothes into the hamper.  You jump into a quick, hot shower to freshen up a little and then dry yourself off before slipping into your favorite pair of flannel pajamas and a soft, warm pair of slippers.  You pause beside the bedroom window for a moment, drawing a snowman in the condensation that’s collected on the window with your finger with a smile.

You linger at the window for a moment, staring out at the falling snow, taking in the panorama that’s glistening with the light from a distant full moon.  Taking a deep, contented breath, you eventually pull yourself away and flick off the light as you make your way toward the den.  You can see flickering spots of light dancing on the walls in the room from down the hall and hear the crackling of logs in the fire place and it makes you feel wonderfully at home.

As you near the living room, the rich scent of melting chocolate hits your nose and you take a deep breath, letting it out in a contented sigh.  The noise gets Scotty’s attention from across the room and he beams at you from where he’s carrying two mugs of steaming hot drinking chocolate toward the coffee table near the fire.  You shuffle over, your slippers rasping against the hardwood, and grin at the sight of the whipped cream spirals peeking out over the tops of the mugs.

“Is this the real stuff?”  You ask.

Scotty nods as he sets the mugs down and takes a seat on the couch, motioning for you to join him.

“Made with heavy cream an’ real Swiss chocolate,” he replies.  “An’ a dash o’ cinnamon for a touch o’ Christmas cheer.”

“Well it smells delicious,” you say brightly, reaching for one of the mugs with a shiver as a draft sweeps through the cabin.

The trembling doesn’t escape Scotty’s notice and as you take your first careful sips of the piping hot drink, he gets to his feet and moves over to an old wooden chest nestled in the corner of the room.  You watch him as he pulls what looks like a couple of large bolts of cloth out of the chest and realize quickly as he returns to your side that they’re actually blankets.

“It’s best we keep ye nice an’ cozy,” he explains as he shakes out one of the blankets before draping it over your shoulders.

He follows suit with the other, this time laying it across your lap as you snuggle back into the couch cushions with the hot chocolate in your hands.  You curl the fingers of one hand tightly around the mug and reach out with the other, gently playing with the knotted frills at the edges of one of the blankets. You admire it’s classic simplicity, lazily tracing the green and white stripes on the red background.

“Is this your family tartan?”  You ask softly.

Scotty smiles and shrugs.

“In a way,” he answers.  “It’s the tartan o’ the Scott clan, but family tartans are an invented tradition tha’s a lot more recent than ye think.  It doesnae quite work the way most o’ the world seems tae think it does.”

You surface from where you’d dipped your head to sip at the cocoa and reflect his grin.

“You’ll have to break down tartan history for me one day,” you suggest.  “I’d love to know more.”

“I can regale ye with the tales o’ the tartan while we prepare Christmas dinner,” he suggests.  “I think I can manage tae shorten it down tae a two, maybe three hour lesson…”

You roll your eyes and reach for one of the throw pillows behind you, tossing it playfully at Scotty as the jest and spirit warm you from within.  The two of you giggle for a few moments before you’re able to quiet down and when you do, Scotty shifts closer to you on the sofa, his knees bumping yours as he reaches out to take your mug from your hands.  You let him and watch as he sets it on the coffee table before reaching for your hands instead, squeezing them gently.

“I suppose this is as good a time as any,” he says slowly.

“For what?”  You ask.

“To give ye yer gift,” he replies, slipping off of the couch, kneeling on the floor and reaching under the couch.

“We agreed on no gifts this year!” You exclaim.  “Besides, Christmas isn’t for two more days!”

Scotty smiles up at you as he pulls something out from under the couch, keeping it out of sight.

“Ye cannae deny a man the joy o’ watchin’ the love o’ his life open a Christmas gift,” he says, feigning hurt.

Rolling your eyes, you shift around a bit, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the couch so it’s easier for you to take whatever it is he’s hiding.  Instead of the large sized box you were expecting, however, he produces a very small one in the palm of his hand, reaching to open it up with the other, exposing a beautiful, glimmering, intricate ring.  

Your mouth drops open as you stare at it for a long moment, feeling your heart leap in your chest.  Slowly peeling your eyes away from the diamond solitaire, you look up at Scotty, his expression mingled excited and anxious as he reaches out to take your hand with the one unoccupied by the box.

“This ring is a promise,” Scotty says slowly, affection and nervousness warring for dominance in his eyes.  “It seems sort o’ grim to say  _‘til death do us part_  considering some o’ the situations we find ourselves in in this line o’ duty, but I can promise that I will always be here for you.  I will walk with you through anything, and I will love you to the end.  For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and through anything else that comes – I just don’t want to jinx it with tha’ last bit.”

Tears well up in your eyes at his words, trapping starbursts of firelight in them and distorting your view.  You reach up with your free, shaky hand to wipe them away as you nod furiously.

“Yes,” you whisper at first before gaining your resolve.  “Yes!”

Scotty’s expression screws up into one of amusement and mild confusion.

“But I havnae even asked ye anything yet,” he points out.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You encourage him.

With a renewed vigor, Scotty steels himself, sits up a little straighter, and meets your gaze with a confident, loving one of his own.  Squeezing the hand of yours that he’s holding, he sets down the box and plucks the ring from its velvet cushion, holding it up and ready to slip onto your finger.

“Will ye marry me?”  He asks softly.

“Yes, yes!”  You exclaim.  “Of course I will, Monty!”

You watch as he slides the ring onto your finger.  It fits perfectly and sits gorgeously, scattering the flickering flames dancing in the nearby fireplace like a mirror ball.  You lean in to examine it more closely for a moment, a sense of awe and unconditional love filling you.

Once the ring is in place, you quickly pull your hand out of Scotty’s grip and launch forward, crashing into him so hard the blankets slip off of you as you wrap your arms around him.  Your inertia sends him off kilter and he topples to the floor with you astride his hips, grinning brightly as you lean in to kiss him.

“I want to have the wedding right here at the cabin,” you say in between brushes of your lips on his.  “Just a small ceremony, you in your kilt, Jim officiating…”

Scotty laughs and nods.

“How could I ev’er deny ye anythin’?” He says softly.  “O’course, hen.”

You smile and roll off of Scotty, straight onto the plush carpetl  You shift and nestle in close to him, your hot chocolate long forgotten on the table as you wrap an arm around him, dreams of wedding bells dancing in your head.

“Merry Christmas, Monty,” you murmur, nuzzling into his neck.

“Merry Christmas, Alex,” he replies softly before tipping his head to claim your lips again.


End file.
